OSWALD CRAY.
The house of Lady Oswald was an old-fashioned red brick mansion of
moderate size, two storeys in height only, and with gable-ends. It was
exceedingly comfortable inside, and was surrounded by rather extensive
grounds. At the opposite end of the town to the station, it might have
been thought that that vulgar innovation, the railroad, so especially
obnoxious to Lady Oswald, would at least have spared it offensive
contact; but that was not to be. There was no accounting for the
curves and tracks taken by those lines of the junction, and one of
them had gone off at a tangent to skirt the very boundary of her land.
Seated in the front drawing-room, the one chiefly used by Lady Oswald,
was a woman of some forty years, attired in a neat green-coloured
gown, and cap with white ribbons. This was Parkins, Lady Oswald's
maid, recently promoted to be somewhat of a companion, for Lady Oswald
began to dislike being much alone. A well-meaning faithful woman, with
weak eyes and weak will, and given to tears on very slight occasions.
Parkins had also been lately made housekeeper as well as companion,
and the weekly accounts connected with that department threatened to
be the bane of Parkins's life. Add them up she could not; make
them come right she could not: and she could get neither mercy
nor assistance from Lady Oswald, who had always been her own
account-keeper, and never found any trouble in it. Two tradesmen's
books were before Parkins now, and she was bending over them in
despair, during her lady's absence.
"I can't as much as read the figures," she groaned; "how, then, am I to
add 'em up? Last week there was an overcharge of ten shillings in this
very butcher's book, and my lady found it out, and hasn't done talking
to me for it yet. It _isn't_ my fault; all folks are not born with a
head for figures. And why can't tradespeople make their figures
plain?"
Had she not been so absorbed by the book and its complications she
might have seen the approach of a visitor. A tall and very gentlemanly
man of some eight-and-twenty years, with a countenance that would have
been remarkably frank and pleasing but for the expression of pride
pervading it: nay, that _was_ frank and pleasing in spite of the
pride. He could not help the pride; it was innate, born with him; he
did not make his own face, and the lines of pride were inherent in it.
The pale features were regular, the hair dark, the eyes dark blue, and
lying rather deep in the head, good and honest eyes they were,
searching and truthful: and when he smiled, as he was smiling now, it
made full amends for deficiencies, obliterating every trace of pride,
and imparting a singular charm to the face.
His approach had been discerned by one of the maid-servants, and she
had come to the hall-door and was holding it open. It was at her he
had smiled, for in manner he was exceedingly affable. Perhaps the very
consciousness of the pride that clung to him, and was his besetting
sin, rendered him resolute that in manner at least he should not
offend.
"How are you, Susan? Is Lady Oswald within?"
"No, sir, my lady's out," was the girl's reply, as she dropped a
curtsey. "Parkins is in the drawing-room, sir, I think: I daresay she
can tell whether my lady will be long."
He laid on the hall-table a small roll of paper or parchment that he
carried, threw off a dusty light overcoat, and took up the roll again.
Susan opened the drawing-room door.
"Mr. Oswald Cray."
Parkins gave a scream. Parkins was somewhat addicted to giving screams
when startled or surprised. Starting up from her chair and her
perplexing books, she stood staring at him, as if unable to take in
the fact of his presence. Parkins believed in marvels, and thought one
had been enacted then.
"Oh, sir! how _did_ you come? You must have travelled surely on the
telegraph wires?"
"Not I," answered Mr. Oswald Cray, smiling at her astonishment, but
not understanding its cause. "I left London by rail this morning,
Parkins."
"A telegraph message went up for you an hour or two ago, sir,"
continued Parkins. "My lady has had bad news, sir, and she sent for
you."
"I had no message. I must have left London previously. What bad news
has she had?"
"It's them railway people, sir," explained Parkins. "They have been
writing a letter to my lady--leastways the landlord has--saying that
they are going to take these grounds and build upon them. I haven't
seen her so upset for a long while, sir. When, she got a bit better
from the shock and had sent to the telegraph, she ordered the
carriage, and set off to tell Dr. Davenal."
"Do you expect her to be long?" he asked, thinking that if so, he
might go about some business he had to do, and come back again.
"I expect her every minute, sir; she has been gone a great deal longer
than I thought she'd be away."
He walked to the window, unrolled the parchment, and began to look at
it. It seemed a sort of map, drawn with ink. Parkins, who, whatever
might be the companionship she was admitted to by her mistress, knew
her place better than to remain in the presence of Mr. Oswald Cray,
gathered up her account-book and her pen and ink, and prepared to quit
the room.
"Shall I order you any refreshment, sir?" she stopped to ask.
"Not any, thank you."
She closed the door, leaving him deep in his parchment. Another
minute, and the carriage was seen bowling quickly up. He went out to
meet it: and Lady Oswald gave a scream as Parkins had done, and wanted
to know how he had got there.
"I came down on my own account, Lady Oswald," he said, as he gave her
his arm to lead her in. "My visit is a purposed one to you."
"I'm sure you are very good, Oswald! It is not often that you honour
me with a visit. When you are staying in the neighbourhood for days
and days, a simple call of ceremony is about all I get."
His lips parted with that peculiar smile which made his face at these
moments so attractive. "When I am in the neighbourhood, Lady Oswald,
business nearly overwhelms me. I have not much time to call my own."
Lady Oswald untied her bonnet, and threw herself into a chair: only
the drive to Dr. Davenal's and back had tired her. Parkins came into
the room to take her things, but she waved her hand sharply, impatient
at the interruption. "Presently, presently,"--and Parkins left them
alone again.
"Oswald, do you know what a cruel letter I have had this morning? They
want to bring that wretched railway through my grounds."
"Not the railway," he said, correcting her. "They are proposing to
build some sheds upon the boundaries of them."
"You know about it, then?"
"Yes; I came down to acquaint you, and I am sorry you should have
heard of it from any one else first. I could have spared you one-half
the alarm and annoyance it seems to have caused. Look here. This is
the plan."
He spread the paper out before her. He pointed out the very small
portion of the grounds, and in the remotest part of them, not in sight
of the house or the parts ever walked in by herself, that was proposed
to be taken: he assured her that the projected sheds were but small
sheds, for barrows, trucks, and such things to stand under; that they
would, in point of fact, be no annoyance to her, that she never need
see or hear them. All in vain. Lady Oswald had set her mind bitterly
against the innovation; she could neither be persuaded nor soothed,
and she felt vexed with Mr. Oswald Cray that he should attempt it.
"It is very well for you to praise it," she resentfully said. "Your
interest lies in the line, not in me. Perhaps they have bribed you to
say all this."
For a single moment his face grew dark, and its haughty pride shone
out quite repellently; the next he was smiling his sweet smile. None
knew better than Oswald Cray how rebelliously false the tongue is apt
to be in moments of irritation.
"Dear Lady Oswald, you know that it is foreign to my nature to cause
needless pain. When this news reached my ears a week ago, for the plan
did not originate with me, I bestirred myself to see whether it might
not be relinquished; whether, in short, the sheds could not be erected
on any other portion of the line. But I find that there is no other
portion available so close to the station."
"There's that piece of waste ground midway between this and the
station," she answered. "Why can they not take that?"
"Another station is to be made there. One for goods."
"Another station! Do they think to bring all the world to Hallingham?"
"They are bringing a great many lines of rails to it."
"But they need not disturb my possessions to make room for them!" she
quickly retorted. "Surely your interest might get this spared to me!"
In vain Mr. Oswald Cray strove to convince her that on this point he
had no influence whatever. Nay, he confessed to her, in his candid
truth, that as one of the engineers to the line, he could only
acquiesce in the expediency of that part being used for the sheds,
that there was no other spot so available.
"I drew this plan out myself," he said, "partly from our charts of the
line, partly from my personal recollection of your grounds. I wished
to demonstrate to you how very little a portion of them is, in fact,
required. Will you put on your bonnet again, Lady Oswald, and walk
with me to the spot? I will show you the exact measure they intend to
take."
"No, I won't," said Lady Oswald angrily. "And you ought not to turn
against me, Oswald. It is the principle of the thing I go upon; the
resistance that, in my opinion, should be universally made to these
intrusive railways, which are cutting up the country and ruining it.
If they wanted to take but one foot of my ground; if they only wanted
that dry ditch that skirts it, they should never have it by my
consent, and I will hold out against it to the last. Now you know."
She sat nervously unpinning her cashmere scarf, her hands trembling so
that she could scarcely hold the gold pins as she took them out.
Oswald Cray slowly rolled up the parchment. He had come down from town
at a very busy moment, when he could ill spare the time, with the sole
hope of soothing the news to her, of putting her in good humour with
what must inevitably be. He had received many little kindnesses from
her in his life, especially in his boyhood; and he was one to treasure
up the remembrance of kindness shown, and repay it if he could.
It may seem a very trifling thing, this project of erecting a few low,
trumpery sheds; as may Lady Oswald's inveterate objection to it. But
it is on trifles that the great events of life turn; and, but for this
project of the sheds, this not-to-be-conquered refusal, the greater
portion of this story need never have been written.